A Family Affair
by ShanniC
Summary: Lucille suggests that the family seek profesional help, much to Michael's chagrin. Read on as they maneuver through therapy sessions with disastrous results. Can the Bluths overcome their dysfunctions or is there no hope left for this family?


Author's Notes: This story is based on **Season ONE** of Arrested Development. This story is based on the premise that the family receives psychological help for their dysfunctions with disastrous results. I hope this story encourages more AD fiction.

Disclaimer: I do not own Arrested Development. This story is purely for the purposes of entertainment.

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**A Family Affair**

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Session One: Michael On The Couch

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The first thing that Michael Bluth noticed when he entered the psychiatrist's office was that everything was a lovely shade of brown. The sofa was brown, the loveseat was an off tan color, but the earth tones made him feel relaxed. The potted foliage in the room was of the usual dime store variety, and the paintings adorning the wall could be found at any Target or Sears store. While the room did _appear_ relaxing, he found himself sitting bored with nothing to do. There were no magazine's adorning the coffee table, there weren't any newspapers to be found. In fact, it seemed as if the good doctor had gone completely out of her way to make her room as professional as possible. Michael wasn't sure he approved of that.

Psychiatrists were always supposed to have welcoming warm offices, complete with the stereotypical leather couch. While the room was adequately decorated, there was not much to be had by way of entertainment. He chastised himself then. He wasn't here to amuse and entertained. He was here as a favor to his family, another bright idea suggested by his mother. Why she of all people thought that they should see a therapist was beyond him. He could still remember her earlier words.

"Lucille Austero sees her on a regular basis. Now she _is_ black but that shouldn't be a problem. Those people are always good listeners. _Very_ trustworthy."

Lucille Bluth opined, downing a straight shot of vodka. Michael frowned at the memory of his mother's ignorance, amazed that she hadn't been ostracized from society by the comments that she constantly made. Just as his mind was silently entering a thoughtful reverie, the door was opened and in walked the doctor. She was tall, almost as tall as he was and about his age. She was of course black, and wore her hair in cropped dreadlocks. She was pretty in a woman scholarly way. He noticed that when she smiled all her teeth were shown, and that they were very white.

"Welcome, and thank you very much for coming today Mr. Bluth. My name is Katherine Spartan."

Her voice held the lilt of a Southern accent, and when she spoke he could hear that regional dialect creeping into her voice. Gesturing for him to take a seat, she sat opposite him in one of the stiff chairs that he had silently critiqued earlier. She studied him silently for a moment, occasionally glancing up from her paperwork. Folding, the notebook on her lap, she crossed her arms ready to take notes.

"How are you feeling today Mr. Bluth?"

Michael shrugged already seeing that the good doctor was probably a quack. The degrees from Xavier and Duke University meant nothing to him, not unless she could back it up. Barry Zuckerkorn was their attorney, but he was utterly useless. What the hell, if he was going to be here speaking privately, he might as well lay his true feelings for his dysfunctional family on the table.

"I feel tired Ms. Spartan. You can call me Michael by the way. I'm tired of cleaning up my family's messes, and I am tired of always getting the short end of the stick. I always thought that I was a good person. I try to keep my family together, but they always thwart me at every turn, my kid's growing up without me and my father's in prison. My mother is the most frigid, callous, controlling person I have ever known. My older brother is an idiot, and my kid brother is a mama's boy with dependence issues and my twin sister…"

He stopped then, knowing that he had gone too far. He had opened up too much and now his mother would probably hear about this as would the rest of them. He didn't doubt his mother's cunning in finding out what was said between him and Dr. Spartan. If they didn't demand his head on a stick they'd want to get him back for the comments. The jotting of notes stopped with his trailed off sentence. She offered him a meek smile, silently urging him to continue.

"What about your twin sister Michael?"

Somehow, the comfortable prodding of Dr. Spartan's voice helped him to recall his feelings for his family. Not that it was hard to gather his feelings about them, because it _wasn't_. He felt a little bad about discussing Lindsay so candidly, but she would probably spill the beans about him anyway. Besides, these sessions were supposed to be private.

"Lindsay is my twin. We share—_shared_ a bond. I always think that out of everyone in our family, next to me she is supposed to be the most responsible person. Nowadays, she barely has time for her kid, her husband prances around with men all day and she engages in self absorbed activities. Does this sound like the actions of a responsible parent or adult?"

Before she could reply, the door to the office burst open, and Lindsay walked in the grace of a drunken monkey. She might have _actually_ been drunk, but at this point Michael knew it was too late. Once again, another member of his family waltzed in and ruined what could have become a breakthrough in his attempts at better understanding them.

"Excuse me Ma'am, but I am in session with a client right now. If you could wait outside please…"

Dr. Spartan began, unsure of how to deal with an inebriated woman. Lindsay giggled capriciously, tripping over her own broken heel. She tumbled onto the couch that had been vacated when Michael stood. Her hair was in disarray and her mascara was running. Dr. Spartan made to help her, but was stayed by Michael's hand. He frowned pathetically at his sibling, already knowing that whatever happened to Lindsay involved Tobias, Maeby, their mother or all of the above.

"I'm Dr. Spartan, and you must be Lindsay Funke. I've heard quite a bit about you, Mrs. Funke."

The blonde in question rolled her eyes and puked all over Dr. Spartan's expensive Russian carpet. Ever the professional, Dr. Spartan knelt to the floor and began to wipe up the mess with the paper towels that she kept in a desk drawer. Lindsay giggled again, rolling over on her stomach. She hiccupped and cried all at once, and the sound was as terrible as mice being killed.

"I bet that Mikey told you bad things about me. Probably that I'm self centered, or a bad mother stuck in a marriage with a man who is quite possibly homosexual. I bet you didn't know that Michael wet the bed until he was nine. Yup, our little Mikey could never make it to the bathroom. You know he lost his virginity at twenty. He didn't make it with a girl until college, and even then it was pity sex. You wanna know something else, doc?"

Lindsay whispered conspiratorially, curling her finger towards herself. Both enthralled and disgusted, the doctor frowned leaned closer to hear what else the strange woman would say. Michael groaned, already throwing the vomit covered napkins in the trash. He didn't have time for this further embarrassment and he wasn't going to let Lindsay make a fool of him or herself any longer.

"His first was this engineering geek, a girl we went to school with. Her name was Ming Hsu. Ming Hsu, the girl who fucked you!"

Another giggle escaped before it was silenced by the chortle of bile rising in her throat. It splattered all over Dr. Spartan's Manolo Blahniks, and her long brown legs. Michael stared in fascination as the green colored bile dripped down a very shapely leg and wondered if maybe the sessions were worth continuing. After all, Dr. Spartan had yet to call security. Before he could apologize for his sister's behavior, she beat him to the punch.

"I think that this session is over. I'll arrange another meeting Mr. Bluth, uh _Michael_ at a more convenient time for you."

"Would you happen to make house calls?"

"In most cases yes I do make house calls, but in your family's case—no."

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Footnotes: Yes, I did it. I finally posted the first chapter of my AD story. I hoped you enjoyed reading, and thank you very much for reading! Please let me know what you thought by reviewing. See you next update!


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